Post by bato2 on May 24, 2009 2:15:30 GMT -5
Kostandine and Doruntina(Dhoqina)
The Ballad of Constantine and Dhoqina
Long ago there was a mother
Who had nine sons and a daughter.
All the lads were dashing heroes
And the maid was called Dhoqina,
Just a young girl, still unmarried,
Agile was she like a goshawk.
From afar did come a missive
Asking for her hand in marriage,
But the brothers would not let her,
Only would the youngest of them,
Only Constantine accepted,
Days went by and months receded,
Then she went abroad to marry
Seven days she journeyed thither.
All the brothers then departed,
Travelled far to serve as soldiers
Fighting in a war with Russia,
All nine brothers fell in battle.
Left was but the widowed mother:
“Constantine, my son, where are you?
While alive, you made a promise,
This was what you said on parting:
‘Be I dead or be I living
I’ll return to you Dhoqina!’
Constantine, my son, where are you?
What now of your word of honour?”
Thus complained the widowed mother,
Longing for her distant daughter.
From the grave arose Constantine,
Tombstone turned into a stallion,
Graveyard soil became a saddle,
On his black horse did he clamber,
One by one he crossed the mountains
Swiftly, slowly did he journey,
Passing seven alpine ranges,
Seized his sister from her dancing:
“Oh Dhoqina, poor Dhoqina,
Do you not long for your family?
Tears are flowing down your mother’s
Face who cries to see her daughter.”
“Good or bad news are you bringing?”
“Come along now with me, sister,
As you are, dressed in those garments.”
O’er the horse’s rump he pulled her
As the birds chirped in the mountains:
“Tsili viu, tsili viu,
Have you seen them, have you seen them,
Dead man riding with the living?”
Then Dhoqina asked her brother:
“Constantine, oh dearest brother,
What has happened, what’s the matter?
What’s that heavy smell that’s coming
Off your arms and mighty shoulders?”
“Smoke and powder from my rifle
For I’ve been at war, in battle.”
“Constantine, oh dearest brother,
What is in your hair that’s glaring,
Flaring that it almost blinds me?”
“Do not worry, my good sister,
Just the dust whirled from the highway.”
“Constantine, oh dearest brother,
What’s the matter with our house here,
Why has it been painted over,
Has perchance misfortune struck it?”
“Do not worry, fair Dhoqina,
It’s just mother who’s grown older.
She no longer liked the colours,
Thus she had the house repainted
Black as symbol of her aging,
Nothing more and nothing less,” he
Told her at their destination.
“Off the horse now, fair Dhoqina,
Go into the house, my sister,
I’ll be with you in a twinkling.”
Constantine flew off that instant
And returned unto his graveyard.
To the doorway strode Dhoqina,
“Open, mother, it’s Dhoqina!”
“Who is claiming she’s Dhoqina?
May a bolt of lightning strike you!
Who has led you to my doorway?
All my sons are gone and perished.”
“Open up the door, dear mother,
For I’ve come back with my brother,
Come with Constantine on horseback.”
“Constantine is gone and perished,
Fell upon the field of battle,
Withered, turned to dust his body.”
Then she opened up the door and
Saw her daughter on the threshold,
Both the women died that second.
This ballad wads a inspiration for the German poet Göttfried August Bürger
Lenore www.kudzumonthly.com/kudzu/oct02/Lenore.html
The Legend of Baba Tomor
Baba Tomor or Father Tomor is the personification of Mount Tomor, a mountain range which includes the highest peak in central Albania at an altitude of 2416 m. Mount Tomor is considered the home of the gods in central Albanian popular belief. The peasants of the region swear by Father Tomor, Alb. "për Baba Tomor," an oath considered stronger than any sworn on the Bible or the Koran. Mount Tomor is sacred both to the Christians, who used to climb it on August 15, Assumption Day, in honour of the Virgin Mary and to the Bektashi, who honour Abbas Ali during an annual pilgrimage on August 20-25. The legendary figure of Baba Tomor is envisaged as an old man with a long white beard flowing down to his belt. Around him hover four long-beaked female eagles, which perch on his snowy slopes. According to Maximilian Lambertz (1882-1963), he is the remnant of some ancient Illyrian god. Here is the essence of the legend:
Baba Tomor has taken the Earthly Beauty to be his bride. She spends her days with her sister, the Sea Beauty, but when evening comes, the wind, faithful servant of Baba Tomor, carries her back up the mountainside to him. Mount Tomor overlooks the town of Berat, which the old man jealously guards as his favourite city. Across the valley is Mount Shpirag with furrow-like torrents of water running down its slopes. While Baba Tomor was dallying in bed with the Earthly Beauty one day, Shpirag took advantage of the moment and advanced to take over Berat. The four guardian eagles duly awakened Baba Tomor from his dreams. When told of Shpirag's surreptitious plans, Baba Tomor arose from his bed. His first concern was for the safety of the Earthly Beauty and so he ordered the East Wind to carry her back to the home of her sister. Mounting his mule, Tomor then set off to do battle with Shpirag. With his scythe, Tomor lashed into Shpirag, inflicting upon him many a wound which can be seen today as the furrows running down the mountainside. A trace of the hoof of Baba Tomor's mule can, it is said, be seen near the village of Sinja. Shpirag, for his part, pounded Tomor with his cudgel and left many a wound on the lofty mountain, but was overcome. The two giants ultimately slew one another and the maiden drowned in her tears, which became the Osum river.
Scanderbeg and Ballaban
Scanderbeg or Skanderbeg (Alb. Skënderbeu) was an Albanian prince (1405-1468) and is now considered the national hero of the Albanians. His real name was George Castrioti (Alb. Gjergj Kastrioti). Sent by his father as a hostage to Sultan Murad II (r. 1421-1451), he was converted to Islam, and after education in Edirne was given the name Iskander (Alexander) and the rank of bey, hence Scanderbeg. In 1443, after the Turkish defeat at Nish at the hands of John Corvinus Hunyadi (1385-1456), Scanderbeg abandoned the Ottoman army, returned to Albania and embraced Christianity. He took over the fortress of Kruja by a ruse and was proclaimed commander in chief of an independent Albanian army. In the following years, he successfully repulsed thirteen Ottoman invasions and was widely admired in the Christian world for his resistance to the Turks, being given the title 'Atleta Christi' by Pope Calixtus III (r. 1455-1458). Scanderbeg died on January 17, 1468 at Lezha (Alessio) and was buried there at the Church of Saint Nicholas, but his bones were later exhumed and stolen by Turkish soldiers as talismans. Although Albanian resistance held out for a decade thereafter, the fortress of Kruja was taken by the Turks in 1478 and Albania was to return to over four centuries of Ottoman rule. For the Albanians, Scanderbeg is the symbol and quintessence of resistance to foreign domination and a source of much inspiration in both oral and written literature. Here is a prose rendition of the tale.
Albania was faced with a mighty Turkish invasion, but managed to defend itself. A second, even greater invasion then took place and was again repulsed. A third, fourth and fifth invasion followed. Under the leadership of Gjergj Kastrioti Scanderbeg, however, the Albanians were able to counter each of these invasions for they fought with courage for their country, their honour, their lives and their children. Over long years and in the course of the many battles, the little province of Albania had become a graveyard for the armies of the Ottoman Empire. Armies attacked and never returned home, as if they had vanished from the very face of the earth.
Finally Sultan Murad himself came, with soldiers as numerous as the sands of the seashore, and he, too, was defeated. He returned home and this time took with him another army even greater and headed by his Janissaries, and yet it, too, was vanquished. On his deathbed, the mighty Sultan Murad lamented: "What shame! I have lived in vain! I have conquered the whole world, I forced Bulgaria and Serbia into submission, I claimed victory over Greece and reached the very Danube, conquering the wide plains of Romania and Hungary beyond that river, but I was never able to defeat little Albania. I almost had it in the palm of my hand when Scanderbeg drove me out."
The son of Sultan Murad, Mehmed the Great, followed in his father's footsteps, except that he was much crueler. He besieged and waged war against Constantinople the magnificent surrounded by its three walls. When Mehmed defeated the city, the most beautiful and wealthiest on earth, he set up his golden throne there and called himself the Victorious. Following this great deed, which caused all of Europe to tremble, Mehmed resolved to force Albania into submission as his dying father had begged him to do. Thus Sultan Mehmed assembled a huge army with both infantry and cavalry, and headed it himself to march against Albania. The very earth quaked as the iron girded army marched by. The rivers were left without water after it had passed, for its horses and soldiers had drunk them dry. No grass grew where it had marched.
Accompanying the Turkish Sultan was Ballaban Badheri, an Albanian who had betrayed his country and was now leading the Turks. Ballaban had been a great hero, but he betrayed both his lineage and his people, and fought for the Turks to gain high office, fame and fortune. He had taken part in many wars and had been first to plant the crescent flag on the walls of Constantinople. Sultan Mehmed had therefore made Ballaban a pasha and conferred upon him gifts and honours. But honour for the Turks had a bitter aftertaste to the Albanians, for Ballaban had no compassion with their sufferings, neither with the land he trampled upon, nor with the homes he razed to the ground, nor with Albanian blood he spilled. Sultan Mehmed set out with this great army to force Albania into submission, but Albania had Scanderbeg!
When Scanderbeg received word that the Turks were again to invade Albania, he assembled his troops and set forth to do battle with them. But how few they were, compared to the Turkish hordes! The Albanians made their camp on the bank of a sparkling river, setting up their tents in the shade. They ate, drank and made merry as if celebrating a wedding instead of going to war.
After some time, they caught sight of a Turk riding towards them, carrying a white flag in his hand. They rode out to meet him and block his path. "Who are you and what do you want here?" "I am a messenger of the mighty Sultan of the Turks and wish to speak to your lord, Scanderbeg." "Get off your horse then and come with us." And so, they took him to Scanderbeg. The messenger greeted Scanderbeg politely, saying, "Lord of the Albanians, the mighty Turkish Sultan has sent me to ask you where you wish to do battle with him." Scanderbeg answered curtly, "Go and tell your lord to come and see for himself." When the messenger returned, Sultan Mehmed asked him, "Did you see Scanderbeg?" "Yes, Sultan, I saw him." "Did you also see his warriors?" "Yes, I did." "Does Scanderbeg have a large army?" "He has but a small army though his soldiers all have shining, courageous eyes. They were singing and dancing a sword dance and waiting impatiently for the order to attack." "What is this sword dance, messenger?" asked the Sultan. "It is an Albanian dance, oh ruler over land and sea. It would send a shiver down your spine to see how those men, as huge as oak trees, were leaping and dancing with their naked swords and crossing their blades as if in battle. They forced me to stand in their midst and crossed swords over my head, but without touching me at all." "What happened then?" "The Albanians are not afraid of death, mighty Sultan, especially death in battle. They say that death in battle by the sword is sweeter than honey."
The mighty Sultan Mehmed sighed and said to himself, "If only I had these people under my sway, if only they would do battle for me!" He turned to the messenger again and asked, "Why is it they say that death in battle is sweeter than honey?" "Because they say they are fighting for their freedom, for their country. They also swear by the sword, mighty Sultan." "Only by the sword?" "No, by the earth, by water and stones, too. And by bread and salt. They say that honour is paradise and disgrace is hell." "And this Scanderbeg, what was he like? Was he afraid?" "No, mighty Sultan, he showed no fear. When I arrived, he was eating with his warriors. He rose and received me standing, with both hands resting on the hilt of his sword, like a god of war. He said only, 'Go and tell your lord to come and see for himself.'" Mighty Sultan Mehmed was infuriated and exclaimed, "I'll show these Albanians what death is. I'll dispatch my army and mow them down like grass. Then we will see if they still rise and dance their sword dance"! "As you wish, mighty Sultan!"
Sultan Mehmed jumped to his feet and gave orders for the drums to be sounded. Immediately the drums began to beat. The noise filled the whole valley and echoed through the canyons. "Send me my shield bearers!" proclaimed the Sultan. The shield bearers appeared at once chanting in unison, "Long live the mighty Sultan! Our lives belong to you! We await your command!" Sultan Mehmed, son of Murad the Great, said to them, "Tell me, shield bearers, which one of you is brave enough to bring me Scanderbeg, dead or alive?" They all heard his words, yet none of them replied. They trembled at the very name of the Albanian hero.
In the ensuing silence, Ballaban Badheri, who had betrayed his own people to fight under the Ottoman flag, stepped forth, "What will you give me, mighty Sultan, if I bring you Scanderbeg?" "I will give you nine hundred thousand ducats of gold and all Albanian lands that you may reign as Pasha as long as you live. You shall be free to execute whomever you please and as many as you please." "You will have him this evening, either dead or in chains," Ballaban promised.
The Sultan was overjoyed for he knew that one could only fight fire with fire and that it would take an Albanian to beat an Albanian. He raised his arm and gave the signal for battle. Nine trumpeters of the Janissaries blew their horns, followed by ninety nine trumpeters of the other troops. The drums pounded. The Turks drew their sabres, let out a savage war cry and, under the eyes of the Sultan, victor of Constantinople, rushed heroically into battle. The Sultan sat and observed the battle from in front of his silken tent on a hilltop overlooking the river. He could hardly wait for Ballaban Badheri to bring him Scanderbeg, either dead or in chains.
The Tatar archers strung their bows with three arrows each and all fired at the same time, causing the very sky to go black. The Turkish army resembled a swelling sea about to engulf Scanderbeg's small band of warriors. And the battle began. The sparkling river at which the Albanians had camped turned crimson with blood. The Turks attempted to cross the river, but were unable to do so for the Albanians held it firmly. As the battle raged, Scanderbeg waited for his warriors from the mountains who were still to arrive.
Meanwhile, Ballaban had found a spot at which to cross the river with his men. Scanderbeg rushed to block his path and shouted in Albanian, "Come on, come on, Ballaban Badheri! You betrayed your people for a spoonful of Turkish soup! Bravo, what a hero!" Ballaban trembled and turned pale, but stood his ground. Scanderbeg called to him a second time, "You'd love to make a hundred thousand ducats of gold and have Albania as your pashalic, wouldn't you? You shall feel the blade of my sword. Come nearer." Ballaban froze. Scanderbeg called to him a third time, "Attack, traitor, or I will attack first!" Treacherous Ballaban, advancing with his warriors, hurled his lance. Scanderbeg tried to back off but lost control of the reins of his steed and was wounded in the shoulder. The steed too was struck. Scanderbeg fell from the animal and dropped to his knees, but managed to rise to his feet in no time. The Turks cheered and encircled him without delay. Ballaban was now confident of his nine hundred thousand ducats of gold. Scanderbeg supported himself against a mighty oak tree and drew his sword. All those who approached too closely were cut to pieces. The others backed off, but then lunged with Ballaban for the final attack.
As Scanderbeg, completely encircled by the enemy, fought on by himself, two thousand warriors, led by Dukagjin and Livet, rode down from the mountains to his assistance. Clasping their naked swords, they swooped down like a snowy avalanche sweeping away everything in their path. When Scanderbeg saw the warriors coming, he laughed and rejoiced, shouting "Welcome, Dukagjin! Over here, come and help me for I am doing battle with the traitor, holding a sword in one hand and our glorious flag in the other." He then set upon the enemy again like a fire raging in the brush. Headless bodies and severed heads filled the ditches. The Turks either fell or retreated. Only one of them resisted: Ballaban Badheri. They fought on man to man. Scanderbeg did not want to slay Ballaban, but to take him prisoner. At last, he shattered Ballaban's sabre and left him standing unarmed with his head bowed. Scanderbeg wounded him slightly in his right ear, saying, "Now return to your master, dog!"
The Turkish army fled. The Albanians pursued it through the canyons and over streams until it was crushed. The drums were smashed and rolled aimlessly along the ground, the crescent flags were caught up in the bushes. Ballaban, covered in blood and with his head bowed, returned to his master's tent. The Turkish Sultan asked him, "My, my, Ballaban, you are wounded in the head. What of your bragging now? I thought you wanted to bring me Scanderbeg's head this evening?" Ballaban fell to his knees to beg forgiveness of the Sultan, answering, "Mighty Sultan, ruler over land and sea! Hear my words! I was not able to bring you Scanderbeg dead or alive because not only his own strength helped him, but the entire country was behind him. I fought in many battles under your father, I have challenged many a warrior and returned victorious, but I have never met anything like Scanderbeg." The Sultan replied in fury, "Ballaban, cover your head, sign of your infidelity, for I am going to have it removed to appease my wrath at the annihilation of my army. You gave me your word that I would bring the Albanians under my sway this time and you have broken it." The Sultan then gave his Janissaries a sign. They seized the traitor Ballaban, tied him to a tree and beheaded him.
The avalanche of sabre bearing Albanians was still approaching. When Sultan Mehmed saw them coming, he mounted his steed and fled in haste, leaving his silken tent and his dead warriors behind. The Albanians pursued him but he continued to flee in panic. Once again, Scanderbeg had overcome the superior strength of the Turks.
The Legend of Rozafat Castle
The legend of Rozafat Castle, now the ruins of a no doubt originally Illyrian fortification soaring above the town of Shkodra in northern Albania, involves one of the grimmest motifs of Balkan legendry, that of immurement. The story of a woman being walled in during the construction of a bridge or castle in order to stabilise the foundations is widespread in oral literature in Albania, the Balkans and elsewhere. Variants in Albania are also told of the castle of Turra south of Kavaja, of the castle of Petro Petroshi in Lleshan south of Elbasan, and of the fortress of Elbasan itself. The earliest version outside Albania may be that of the Bridge of Adana in southern Turkey, which was constructed in 527-565 A.D. The best known variant in the Balkans itself is that of the Bridge of Arta in northern Greece, which was constructed in 1602-1606. Other variants are known to the Romanians in the legend of the Monastery of Argesh, the Bulgarians in the legend of the Bridge of Struma, also called Kadin Most, the Bosnians in the legends of Teshanj Castle and the Bridge of Mostar, and the Serbs, who indeed have a Serbian variant for the legend of Rozafat Castle, "Grad gradili na Skadar," recorded by Vuk Karadzic (1787-1864). Also related are the Hungarian ballad of the castle of Deva and the German legend of the castle of Henneberg. The Albanian version of the legend of Rozafat Castle was first recorded by Thimi Mitko (1820-1890) in his folklore collection 'Albanike melissa / Belietta sskiypetare' (The Albanian Bee) in 1878. The immurement legend is based no doubt upon a Balkan reality. Even at the beginning of the twentieth century, animals such as sheep, goats and chickens were still being sacrificed on such occasions in Albania and their remains were immured in the foundations of bridges and other buildings. The practice is still widely encountered today. Here is a prose summary of the Rozafat legend.
Fog lay over the Buna for three days and three nights, blanketing the river completely. When three days and three nights had passed, a strong wind began to blow, dissipating the mists and making Mount Valdanuz visible once again. Up on the mountain there were three brothers at work building a castle. The foundations they built during the daytime always collapsed at night, so that they could never finish the castle. One day, an old man came by and greeted the three brothers, saying, "I wish you success in your work!" "We wish you success, too, old man, though we ourselves are not doing very well. Day after day, we work and build and, at night, the foundations collapse. Do you know what we can do to make the walls stay put?" "Yes, I do," replied the old man, "but it would be a shame if I told you." "Let the shame be ours, because we are the ones who want to build the castle." The old man reflected for a while and then asked, "Are you married? Do you all have wives?" "Yes, we are married," they replied, "Each of us has a wife. But tell us what to do to build the castle." "If you really want to finish the castle, you must swear never to tell your wives what I am going to tell you now. The wife who brings you your food tomorrow must be buried alive in the wall of the castle. Only then will the foundations stay put and last forever." Thus spoke the old man and departed. But alas, the eldest brother broke his promise and revealed to his wife at home everything that had happened and told her not to approach the place where the castle was being built. The second brother broke his promise, too, and told his wife everything. Only the youngest brother kept his word and said nothing to his wife at home.
The next morning, the brothers rose early and went off to work. Their axes resounded, rocks were crushed, the walls rose and their hearts beat faster and faster... At home the mother of the three brothers knew nothing of their plot. She said to the wife of the eldest brother, "The men need bread and water and their flask of wine, daughter in law." She replied, "I'm sorry, dear mother, but I really cannot go today. I am ill." The mother then asked the second wife, who answered, "My word, dear mother, I cannot go either, for I must visit my parents today." The mother then turned to the youngest wife, saying, "My dear daughter in law, the men need bread and water and their flask of wine." She got up and said, "I would willingly go, mother, but I have my young son here and am afraid he will need weaning and will cry." "You go ahead," said the other two daughters in law, "we shall look after the boy. He won't cry."
So the youngest and best wife stood up, fetched the bread and water and the flask of wine, kissed her son good bye on both cheeks and set off. She climbed up Mount Valdanuz and approached the place where the three workers were busy. "I wish you success in your work, gentlemen!" But what was wrong? The axes stopped resounding, their hearts beat faster and faster, and their faces turned pale. When the youngest brother saw his wife coming, he hurled his axe into the valley and cursed the rocks and walls. "What is the matter, my lord," his wife asked, "why are you cursing the rocks and walls?" Her older brothers in law smiled grimly and the oldest one declared, "You were born under an unlucky star, sister in law, for we have sworn to bury you alive in the wall of the castle."
"Then may it be so, brothers in law," replied the young woman. "I have but one request to make. When you wall me in, leave a hole for my right eye, for my right hand, for my right foot and for my right breast. I have a small son. When he starts to cry, I will cheer him up with my right eye, I will comfort him with my right hand, I will rock him with my right foot and I will wean him with my right breast. Let my breast turn to stone and may the castle flourish. May my son become a great hero, the ruler of the world!"
They then seized the poor young woman and walled her into the foundations of the castle. This time the walls did not collapse, but stayed put to rise higher and higher. Even today, at the foot of the castle, the stones are still damp and mildewed from the tears of the mother weeping for her son
The Ballad of Constantine and Dhoqina
Long ago there was a mother
Who had nine sons and a daughter.
All the lads were dashing heroes
And the maid was called Dhoqina,
Just a young girl, still unmarried,
Agile was she like a goshawk.
From afar did come a missive
Asking for her hand in marriage,
But the brothers would not let her,
Only would the youngest of them,
Only Constantine accepted,
Days went by and months receded,
Then she went abroad to marry
Seven days she journeyed thither.
All the brothers then departed,
Travelled far to serve as soldiers
Fighting in a war with Russia,
All nine brothers fell in battle.
Left was but the widowed mother:
“Constantine, my son, where are you?
While alive, you made a promise,
This was what you said on parting:
‘Be I dead or be I living
I’ll return to you Dhoqina!’
Constantine, my son, where are you?
What now of your word of honour?”
Thus complained the widowed mother,
Longing for her distant daughter.
From the grave arose Constantine,
Tombstone turned into a stallion,
Graveyard soil became a saddle,
On his black horse did he clamber,
One by one he crossed the mountains
Swiftly, slowly did he journey,
Passing seven alpine ranges,
Seized his sister from her dancing:
“Oh Dhoqina, poor Dhoqina,
Do you not long for your family?
Tears are flowing down your mother’s
Face who cries to see her daughter.”
“Good or bad news are you bringing?”
“Come along now with me, sister,
As you are, dressed in those garments.”
O’er the horse’s rump he pulled her
As the birds chirped in the mountains:
“Tsili viu, tsili viu,
Have you seen them, have you seen them,
Dead man riding with the living?”
Then Dhoqina asked her brother:
“Constantine, oh dearest brother,
What has happened, what’s the matter?
What’s that heavy smell that’s coming
Off your arms and mighty shoulders?”
“Smoke and powder from my rifle
For I’ve been at war, in battle.”
“Constantine, oh dearest brother,
What is in your hair that’s glaring,
Flaring that it almost blinds me?”
“Do not worry, my good sister,
Just the dust whirled from the highway.”
“Constantine, oh dearest brother,
What’s the matter with our house here,
Why has it been painted over,
Has perchance misfortune struck it?”
“Do not worry, fair Dhoqina,
It’s just mother who’s grown older.
She no longer liked the colours,
Thus she had the house repainted
Black as symbol of her aging,
Nothing more and nothing less,” he
Told her at their destination.
“Off the horse now, fair Dhoqina,
Go into the house, my sister,
I’ll be with you in a twinkling.”
Constantine flew off that instant
And returned unto his graveyard.
To the doorway strode Dhoqina,
“Open, mother, it’s Dhoqina!”
“Who is claiming she’s Dhoqina?
May a bolt of lightning strike you!
Who has led you to my doorway?
All my sons are gone and perished.”
“Open up the door, dear mother,
For I’ve come back with my brother,
Come with Constantine on horseback.”
“Constantine is gone and perished,
Fell upon the field of battle,
Withered, turned to dust his body.”
Then she opened up the door and
Saw her daughter on the threshold,
Both the women died that second.
This ballad wads a inspiration for the German poet Göttfried August Bürger
Lenore www.kudzumonthly.com/kudzu/oct02/Lenore.html
The Legend of Baba Tomor
Baba Tomor or Father Tomor is the personification of Mount Tomor, a mountain range which includes the highest peak in central Albania at an altitude of 2416 m. Mount Tomor is considered the home of the gods in central Albanian popular belief. The peasants of the region swear by Father Tomor, Alb. "për Baba Tomor," an oath considered stronger than any sworn on the Bible or the Koran. Mount Tomor is sacred both to the Christians, who used to climb it on August 15, Assumption Day, in honour of the Virgin Mary and to the Bektashi, who honour Abbas Ali during an annual pilgrimage on August 20-25. The legendary figure of Baba Tomor is envisaged as an old man with a long white beard flowing down to his belt. Around him hover four long-beaked female eagles, which perch on his snowy slopes. According to Maximilian Lambertz (1882-1963), he is the remnant of some ancient Illyrian god. Here is the essence of the legend:
Baba Tomor has taken the Earthly Beauty to be his bride. She spends her days with her sister, the Sea Beauty, but when evening comes, the wind, faithful servant of Baba Tomor, carries her back up the mountainside to him. Mount Tomor overlooks the town of Berat, which the old man jealously guards as his favourite city. Across the valley is Mount Shpirag with furrow-like torrents of water running down its slopes. While Baba Tomor was dallying in bed with the Earthly Beauty one day, Shpirag took advantage of the moment and advanced to take over Berat. The four guardian eagles duly awakened Baba Tomor from his dreams. When told of Shpirag's surreptitious plans, Baba Tomor arose from his bed. His first concern was for the safety of the Earthly Beauty and so he ordered the East Wind to carry her back to the home of her sister. Mounting his mule, Tomor then set off to do battle with Shpirag. With his scythe, Tomor lashed into Shpirag, inflicting upon him many a wound which can be seen today as the furrows running down the mountainside. A trace of the hoof of Baba Tomor's mule can, it is said, be seen near the village of Sinja. Shpirag, for his part, pounded Tomor with his cudgel and left many a wound on the lofty mountain, but was overcome. The two giants ultimately slew one another and the maiden drowned in her tears, which became the Osum river.
Scanderbeg and Ballaban
Scanderbeg or Skanderbeg (Alb. Skënderbeu) was an Albanian prince (1405-1468) and is now considered the national hero of the Albanians. His real name was George Castrioti (Alb. Gjergj Kastrioti). Sent by his father as a hostage to Sultan Murad II (r. 1421-1451), he was converted to Islam, and after education in Edirne was given the name Iskander (Alexander) and the rank of bey, hence Scanderbeg. In 1443, after the Turkish defeat at Nish at the hands of John Corvinus Hunyadi (1385-1456), Scanderbeg abandoned the Ottoman army, returned to Albania and embraced Christianity. He took over the fortress of Kruja by a ruse and was proclaimed commander in chief of an independent Albanian army. In the following years, he successfully repulsed thirteen Ottoman invasions and was widely admired in the Christian world for his resistance to the Turks, being given the title 'Atleta Christi' by Pope Calixtus III (r. 1455-1458). Scanderbeg died on January 17, 1468 at Lezha (Alessio) and was buried there at the Church of Saint Nicholas, but his bones were later exhumed and stolen by Turkish soldiers as talismans. Although Albanian resistance held out for a decade thereafter, the fortress of Kruja was taken by the Turks in 1478 and Albania was to return to over four centuries of Ottoman rule. For the Albanians, Scanderbeg is the symbol and quintessence of resistance to foreign domination and a source of much inspiration in both oral and written literature. Here is a prose rendition of the tale.
Albania was faced with a mighty Turkish invasion, but managed to defend itself. A second, even greater invasion then took place and was again repulsed. A third, fourth and fifth invasion followed. Under the leadership of Gjergj Kastrioti Scanderbeg, however, the Albanians were able to counter each of these invasions for they fought with courage for their country, their honour, their lives and their children. Over long years and in the course of the many battles, the little province of Albania had become a graveyard for the armies of the Ottoman Empire. Armies attacked and never returned home, as if they had vanished from the very face of the earth.
Finally Sultan Murad himself came, with soldiers as numerous as the sands of the seashore, and he, too, was defeated. He returned home and this time took with him another army even greater and headed by his Janissaries, and yet it, too, was vanquished. On his deathbed, the mighty Sultan Murad lamented: "What shame! I have lived in vain! I have conquered the whole world, I forced Bulgaria and Serbia into submission, I claimed victory over Greece and reached the very Danube, conquering the wide plains of Romania and Hungary beyond that river, but I was never able to defeat little Albania. I almost had it in the palm of my hand when Scanderbeg drove me out."
The son of Sultan Murad, Mehmed the Great, followed in his father's footsteps, except that he was much crueler. He besieged and waged war against Constantinople the magnificent surrounded by its three walls. When Mehmed defeated the city, the most beautiful and wealthiest on earth, he set up his golden throne there and called himself the Victorious. Following this great deed, which caused all of Europe to tremble, Mehmed resolved to force Albania into submission as his dying father had begged him to do. Thus Sultan Mehmed assembled a huge army with both infantry and cavalry, and headed it himself to march against Albania. The very earth quaked as the iron girded army marched by. The rivers were left without water after it had passed, for its horses and soldiers had drunk them dry. No grass grew where it had marched.
Accompanying the Turkish Sultan was Ballaban Badheri, an Albanian who had betrayed his country and was now leading the Turks. Ballaban had been a great hero, but he betrayed both his lineage and his people, and fought for the Turks to gain high office, fame and fortune. He had taken part in many wars and had been first to plant the crescent flag on the walls of Constantinople. Sultan Mehmed had therefore made Ballaban a pasha and conferred upon him gifts and honours. But honour for the Turks had a bitter aftertaste to the Albanians, for Ballaban had no compassion with their sufferings, neither with the land he trampled upon, nor with the homes he razed to the ground, nor with Albanian blood he spilled. Sultan Mehmed set out with this great army to force Albania into submission, but Albania had Scanderbeg!
When Scanderbeg received word that the Turks were again to invade Albania, he assembled his troops and set forth to do battle with them. But how few they were, compared to the Turkish hordes! The Albanians made their camp on the bank of a sparkling river, setting up their tents in the shade. They ate, drank and made merry as if celebrating a wedding instead of going to war.
After some time, they caught sight of a Turk riding towards them, carrying a white flag in his hand. They rode out to meet him and block his path. "Who are you and what do you want here?" "I am a messenger of the mighty Sultan of the Turks and wish to speak to your lord, Scanderbeg." "Get off your horse then and come with us." And so, they took him to Scanderbeg. The messenger greeted Scanderbeg politely, saying, "Lord of the Albanians, the mighty Turkish Sultan has sent me to ask you where you wish to do battle with him." Scanderbeg answered curtly, "Go and tell your lord to come and see for himself." When the messenger returned, Sultan Mehmed asked him, "Did you see Scanderbeg?" "Yes, Sultan, I saw him." "Did you also see his warriors?" "Yes, I did." "Does Scanderbeg have a large army?" "He has but a small army though his soldiers all have shining, courageous eyes. They were singing and dancing a sword dance and waiting impatiently for the order to attack." "What is this sword dance, messenger?" asked the Sultan. "It is an Albanian dance, oh ruler over land and sea. It would send a shiver down your spine to see how those men, as huge as oak trees, were leaping and dancing with their naked swords and crossing their blades as if in battle. They forced me to stand in their midst and crossed swords over my head, but without touching me at all." "What happened then?" "The Albanians are not afraid of death, mighty Sultan, especially death in battle. They say that death in battle by the sword is sweeter than honey."
The mighty Sultan Mehmed sighed and said to himself, "If only I had these people under my sway, if only they would do battle for me!" He turned to the messenger again and asked, "Why is it they say that death in battle is sweeter than honey?" "Because they say they are fighting for their freedom, for their country. They also swear by the sword, mighty Sultan." "Only by the sword?" "No, by the earth, by water and stones, too. And by bread and salt. They say that honour is paradise and disgrace is hell." "And this Scanderbeg, what was he like? Was he afraid?" "No, mighty Sultan, he showed no fear. When I arrived, he was eating with his warriors. He rose and received me standing, with both hands resting on the hilt of his sword, like a god of war. He said only, 'Go and tell your lord to come and see for himself.'" Mighty Sultan Mehmed was infuriated and exclaimed, "I'll show these Albanians what death is. I'll dispatch my army and mow them down like grass. Then we will see if they still rise and dance their sword dance"! "As you wish, mighty Sultan!"
Sultan Mehmed jumped to his feet and gave orders for the drums to be sounded. Immediately the drums began to beat. The noise filled the whole valley and echoed through the canyons. "Send me my shield bearers!" proclaimed the Sultan. The shield bearers appeared at once chanting in unison, "Long live the mighty Sultan! Our lives belong to you! We await your command!" Sultan Mehmed, son of Murad the Great, said to them, "Tell me, shield bearers, which one of you is brave enough to bring me Scanderbeg, dead or alive?" They all heard his words, yet none of them replied. They trembled at the very name of the Albanian hero.
In the ensuing silence, Ballaban Badheri, who had betrayed his own people to fight under the Ottoman flag, stepped forth, "What will you give me, mighty Sultan, if I bring you Scanderbeg?" "I will give you nine hundred thousand ducats of gold and all Albanian lands that you may reign as Pasha as long as you live. You shall be free to execute whomever you please and as many as you please." "You will have him this evening, either dead or in chains," Ballaban promised.
The Sultan was overjoyed for he knew that one could only fight fire with fire and that it would take an Albanian to beat an Albanian. He raised his arm and gave the signal for battle. Nine trumpeters of the Janissaries blew their horns, followed by ninety nine trumpeters of the other troops. The drums pounded. The Turks drew their sabres, let out a savage war cry and, under the eyes of the Sultan, victor of Constantinople, rushed heroically into battle. The Sultan sat and observed the battle from in front of his silken tent on a hilltop overlooking the river. He could hardly wait for Ballaban Badheri to bring him Scanderbeg, either dead or in chains.
The Tatar archers strung their bows with three arrows each and all fired at the same time, causing the very sky to go black. The Turkish army resembled a swelling sea about to engulf Scanderbeg's small band of warriors. And the battle began. The sparkling river at which the Albanians had camped turned crimson with blood. The Turks attempted to cross the river, but were unable to do so for the Albanians held it firmly. As the battle raged, Scanderbeg waited for his warriors from the mountains who were still to arrive.
Meanwhile, Ballaban had found a spot at which to cross the river with his men. Scanderbeg rushed to block his path and shouted in Albanian, "Come on, come on, Ballaban Badheri! You betrayed your people for a spoonful of Turkish soup! Bravo, what a hero!" Ballaban trembled and turned pale, but stood his ground. Scanderbeg called to him a second time, "You'd love to make a hundred thousand ducats of gold and have Albania as your pashalic, wouldn't you? You shall feel the blade of my sword. Come nearer." Ballaban froze. Scanderbeg called to him a third time, "Attack, traitor, or I will attack first!" Treacherous Ballaban, advancing with his warriors, hurled his lance. Scanderbeg tried to back off but lost control of the reins of his steed and was wounded in the shoulder. The steed too was struck. Scanderbeg fell from the animal and dropped to his knees, but managed to rise to his feet in no time. The Turks cheered and encircled him without delay. Ballaban was now confident of his nine hundred thousand ducats of gold. Scanderbeg supported himself against a mighty oak tree and drew his sword. All those who approached too closely were cut to pieces. The others backed off, but then lunged with Ballaban for the final attack.
As Scanderbeg, completely encircled by the enemy, fought on by himself, two thousand warriors, led by Dukagjin and Livet, rode down from the mountains to his assistance. Clasping their naked swords, they swooped down like a snowy avalanche sweeping away everything in their path. When Scanderbeg saw the warriors coming, he laughed and rejoiced, shouting "Welcome, Dukagjin! Over here, come and help me for I am doing battle with the traitor, holding a sword in one hand and our glorious flag in the other." He then set upon the enemy again like a fire raging in the brush. Headless bodies and severed heads filled the ditches. The Turks either fell or retreated. Only one of them resisted: Ballaban Badheri. They fought on man to man. Scanderbeg did not want to slay Ballaban, but to take him prisoner. At last, he shattered Ballaban's sabre and left him standing unarmed with his head bowed. Scanderbeg wounded him slightly in his right ear, saying, "Now return to your master, dog!"
The Turkish army fled. The Albanians pursued it through the canyons and over streams until it was crushed. The drums were smashed and rolled aimlessly along the ground, the crescent flags were caught up in the bushes. Ballaban, covered in blood and with his head bowed, returned to his master's tent. The Turkish Sultan asked him, "My, my, Ballaban, you are wounded in the head. What of your bragging now? I thought you wanted to bring me Scanderbeg's head this evening?" Ballaban fell to his knees to beg forgiveness of the Sultan, answering, "Mighty Sultan, ruler over land and sea! Hear my words! I was not able to bring you Scanderbeg dead or alive because not only his own strength helped him, but the entire country was behind him. I fought in many battles under your father, I have challenged many a warrior and returned victorious, but I have never met anything like Scanderbeg." The Sultan replied in fury, "Ballaban, cover your head, sign of your infidelity, for I am going to have it removed to appease my wrath at the annihilation of my army. You gave me your word that I would bring the Albanians under my sway this time and you have broken it." The Sultan then gave his Janissaries a sign. They seized the traitor Ballaban, tied him to a tree and beheaded him.
The avalanche of sabre bearing Albanians was still approaching. When Sultan Mehmed saw them coming, he mounted his steed and fled in haste, leaving his silken tent and his dead warriors behind. The Albanians pursued him but he continued to flee in panic. Once again, Scanderbeg had overcome the superior strength of the Turks.
The Legend of Rozafat Castle
The legend of Rozafat Castle, now the ruins of a no doubt originally Illyrian fortification soaring above the town of Shkodra in northern Albania, involves one of the grimmest motifs of Balkan legendry, that of immurement. The story of a woman being walled in during the construction of a bridge or castle in order to stabilise the foundations is widespread in oral literature in Albania, the Balkans and elsewhere. Variants in Albania are also told of the castle of Turra south of Kavaja, of the castle of Petro Petroshi in Lleshan south of Elbasan, and of the fortress of Elbasan itself. The earliest version outside Albania may be that of the Bridge of Adana in southern Turkey, which was constructed in 527-565 A.D. The best known variant in the Balkans itself is that of the Bridge of Arta in northern Greece, which was constructed in 1602-1606. Other variants are known to the Romanians in the legend of the Monastery of Argesh, the Bulgarians in the legend of the Bridge of Struma, also called Kadin Most, the Bosnians in the legends of Teshanj Castle and the Bridge of Mostar, and the Serbs, who indeed have a Serbian variant for the legend of Rozafat Castle, "Grad gradili na Skadar," recorded by Vuk Karadzic (1787-1864). Also related are the Hungarian ballad of the castle of Deva and the German legend of the castle of Henneberg. The Albanian version of the legend of Rozafat Castle was first recorded by Thimi Mitko (1820-1890) in his folklore collection 'Albanike melissa / Belietta sskiypetare' (The Albanian Bee) in 1878. The immurement legend is based no doubt upon a Balkan reality. Even at the beginning of the twentieth century, animals such as sheep, goats and chickens were still being sacrificed on such occasions in Albania and their remains were immured in the foundations of bridges and other buildings. The practice is still widely encountered today. Here is a prose summary of the Rozafat legend.
Fog lay over the Buna for three days and three nights, blanketing the river completely. When three days and three nights had passed, a strong wind began to blow, dissipating the mists and making Mount Valdanuz visible once again. Up on the mountain there were three brothers at work building a castle. The foundations they built during the daytime always collapsed at night, so that they could never finish the castle. One day, an old man came by and greeted the three brothers, saying, "I wish you success in your work!" "We wish you success, too, old man, though we ourselves are not doing very well. Day after day, we work and build and, at night, the foundations collapse. Do you know what we can do to make the walls stay put?" "Yes, I do," replied the old man, "but it would be a shame if I told you." "Let the shame be ours, because we are the ones who want to build the castle." The old man reflected for a while and then asked, "Are you married? Do you all have wives?" "Yes, we are married," they replied, "Each of us has a wife. But tell us what to do to build the castle." "If you really want to finish the castle, you must swear never to tell your wives what I am going to tell you now. The wife who brings you your food tomorrow must be buried alive in the wall of the castle. Only then will the foundations stay put and last forever." Thus spoke the old man and departed. But alas, the eldest brother broke his promise and revealed to his wife at home everything that had happened and told her not to approach the place where the castle was being built. The second brother broke his promise, too, and told his wife everything. Only the youngest brother kept his word and said nothing to his wife at home.
The next morning, the brothers rose early and went off to work. Their axes resounded, rocks were crushed, the walls rose and their hearts beat faster and faster... At home the mother of the three brothers knew nothing of their plot. She said to the wife of the eldest brother, "The men need bread and water and their flask of wine, daughter in law." She replied, "I'm sorry, dear mother, but I really cannot go today. I am ill." The mother then asked the second wife, who answered, "My word, dear mother, I cannot go either, for I must visit my parents today." The mother then turned to the youngest wife, saying, "My dear daughter in law, the men need bread and water and their flask of wine." She got up and said, "I would willingly go, mother, but I have my young son here and am afraid he will need weaning and will cry." "You go ahead," said the other two daughters in law, "we shall look after the boy. He won't cry."
So the youngest and best wife stood up, fetched the bread and water and the flask of wine, kissed her son good bye on both cheeks and set off. She climbed up Mount Valdanuz and approached the place where the three workers were busy. "I wish you success in your work, gentlemen!" But what was wrong? The axes stopped resounding, their hearts beat faster and faster, and their faces turned pale. When the youngest brother saw his wife coming, he hurled his axe into the valley and cursed the rocks and walls. "What is the matter, my lord," his wife asked, "why are you cursing the rocks and walls?" Her older brothers in law smiled grimly and the oldest one declared, "You were born under an unlucky star, sister in law, for we have sworn to bury you alive in the wall of the castle."
"Then may it be so, brothers in law," replied the young woman. "I have but one request to make. When you wall me in, leave a hole for my right eye, for my right hand, for my right foot and for my right breast. I have a small son. When he starts to cry, I will cheer him up with my right eye, I will comfort him with my right hand, I will rock him with my right foot and I will wean him with my right breast. Let my breast turn to stone and may the castle flourish. May my son become a great hero, the ruler of the world!"
They then seized the poor young woman and walled her into the foundations of the castle. This time the walls did not collapse, but stayed put to rise higher and higher. Even today, at the foot of the castle, the stones are still damp and mildewed from the tears of the mother weeping for her son